For Love
by Emily Bradshaw
Summary: Life can only bring death, but what does death bring?
1. Chapter 1

It was raining out

It was raining out. He watched the water drip down the window, drop after drop after drop. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed; panes of glass rattled, light flashed in jagged white lines just beyond the heavy curtains shielding the room from the elements beyond the glass. The power flickered and died without so much as a warning, and he found himself unable to care that he had just lost a month's worth of data as his computer died as well.

"Big Brother!" came a frightened wail from three floors above the richly decorated office. He stood and made his way swiftly to the owner of that frightened voice.

He opened the door and walked across the carpetted floor to the bed, where a small boy with spiky black hair was sitting. "Seto, I'm scared," the boy whimpered. Another crash of thunder and he cried out in fear. Seto Kaiba sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his little brother, Mokuba, close.

"Hush now," he soothed in his deep, rumbling baritone. "The storm can't hurt you in here."

"Its so dark, Seto," Mokuba cried as lightning flashed and illuminated the duel monster tableaus on the walls in the most frightening of ways. Kaiba held him a bit closer.

"Do you want me to lay down with you?" he asked softly. Mokuba nodded against his chest. "Alright."

They laid down together, Mokuba still cuddled against his older brother. Seto started humming a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was a very little boy. "Hush now, my baby," he crooned in his rich, dark voice. "Be still love, don't cry. Sleep like you're rocked by the stream. Sleep and remember this river lullaby, and I'll be with you when you dream."

Mokuba drifted back to sleep. Seto turned his head and looked out the window, watching the storm as it reached its frightening peak.


	2. Chapter 2

How fitting, I thought sourly as I grabbed a semi-clean jacket, that he die during a thunderstorm just after the power goes out. Everything was always fitting his own schedule when it came to Dad, ya know? When he worked, when he slept, when and how much and where he drank? All under his complete control. I guess he wanted to die in the dark; did he think the rain would wash away his sins? I don't know and I don't want to guess. I'm just going to get a buch of guys here from the morgue to get him outta here.

Maybe I'll finally get the chance to clean the place up, without him fuckin' things all to hell with his empties and piles of takeout containers.

The rain was freezing cold, as I expected, but I needed to get out of the house to get somebody to cart away his cold carcass. So I started walking and hoped that the police station hadn't lost power too. That would just be too painful.

"Ten fer a gramme," a dealer on a corner offered. I glanced around and realized that I'd already walked twenty blocks. He noticed me checking out the other action on the street and discreetly produced two different-coloured dime bags. Heroin and cocaine.

"Tempting, but no," I snarled at him. "Beat it, ya little shit."

I watched him as he scuttled away. Ya know, I wasn't lying when I told him his offer was tempting. I've found crack and angel dust to be pretty damn good pick-me-ups on nights like these, but I decided that being hopped up on smack when I went to the cop shop wasn't the smartest thing in the world ta do. With a heavy sigh, I pulled up my collar and continued shuffling downtown.

I was soaked-through and numb by the time I walked into the precinct. Yeah, they still had power. Of course they still had power, I growled at myself. They have backup generators for this kinda thing. God forbid if the police had to talk to each other to exchange information.

"Can I help you, sir?" Receptionists. They are always so fuckin' perky, even at three in the god-damn morning.

"Um, I think so," I told him as nicely as I could manage. "I think my old man's dead."

The next ten minutes were a blur to me, but at the end of it, I was sitting across from a nice-looking female detective, there was a blanket discarded on the floor beside me and styrofoam cup of cheap, store-brand coffee in my hands. I leaned back in the hard metal chair and stared down into the steaming, bitter black liquid.

"The emergency services workers are on their way to your home," she told me. "Are you sure you don't want the blanket, Mister Katsuya?"

I shook my head and drained the liquid from the styrofoam cup. "Th' cold don't bother me none," I told her. "What do you wanna know?"

"How did you find your father's body?" She turned on one o' them tape recorder things and sat back, waiting for my answer. She reminded me a lot of Dad in her mannerisms, the way she moved, the way she talked, and the way she made ya know she wasn't gonna take any bullshit from ya.

"He was in his easy chair. I jus' thought he was passed out drunk, so I was real quiet and just went upstairs to get some shut-eye."

"Was your father drunk often?" She had blue eyes. Black hair, too. Odd combination if it were natural, but blonde roots were peeking out. The old man was blonde, or at least had been before he went bald.

"An easier question woulda been how often was he sober, miss. But every day, almost every hour, 'cept when he was just wakin' up and tryin' ta turn his stomach inside out."

"When did you realize your father was dead?" Such a soft-spoken voice, almost like a whisper, but with an underlying hint of steel. The kind of voice that could threaten without threats. The old man was never like that: he was just a flat-out bully.

"Just after th' power went out. I was goin' downstairs to check on things and I realized that he wasn't crashin' around like a stunned bear like he usually is durin' storms like these. We did firs' aid in gym class at the end of th' year so I checked his pulse and checked ta see if he was breathin', and I got nuthin' from either. So I grabbed a jacket and came over here."

"Are you sad or upset your father is dead? At all?" Ah. So that's it. She thinks I offed the old man and just wanna cover my tracks by claimin' he was an alcoholic. The old man woulda thought the same thing, but he prolly would'nt a given two shits about my feelin's.

"Before he started drinkin', he was a good man. The good man he used to be was my father. The guy he died as wuz nuthin' ta me."

"Then you're not sorry?" A sparkle in her eyes? Oh, a tear. She doesn't think its possible for a kid to hate his dad.

"Sure I care he's dead! But the way he went out was disgraceful: he's been a disgraceful man since Mom died. I'm not happy that he's dead, no, but I don't care that he's gone now."

Her cellphone started ringing. She answered it without bothering to shut off the tape. A few nods, a few words, and she snapped the silver thing shut again. "The paramedics have made a preliminary ruling of alcohol poisoning coupled with cirrhosis of the liver," she told me. "There will be an autopsy; just standard procedure in suspicious deaths, so don't be alarmed. Tomorrow after the autopsy is finished and if nothing suspicious is found, we will release the body to the care of a funeral home. Has he made arrangements?"

"He and Mom had a thing planned," I replied, shaking my head. "Plain black caskets, one red rose for each of them, and plots side-by-side at St Mary's. I'll call Burnestock t'morra and let 'im know."

She nodded and turned off the tape recorder. "One of our officers will be by shortly to take you home."

She had the door open and was half-way through it when I said something that I don't regret.

"Not once did you say you were sorry for my loss."

The nice blonde-turned-sable, blue-eyed detective froze and turned around to look at me. I looked back at her with dead eyes. What else was I supposed ta do? Detectives like her were supposed ta be the 'oh I'm so sorry' kinda people, but she didn't say once that she was sorry for my loss.

Not much of a loss to be sorry for.

Miss Detective turned around and continued walking, but she kept her eyes downcast. What I said got to 'er. There was no point in buggin' out about it now. I'm prolly never gonna see 'er again anyways. An officer opened the door to the interrogation room and motioned for me ta follow her. I stood and wandered after her.

It was still raining outside when the cop pulled away from the station and took me home.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Mom,_

_You probably know already, but Dad died a couple of days ago. I buried him on a Monday in a plain black casket with a red rose on top. Nobody else showed up. Who was I supposed to invite? I don't know any of his friends. Did he even have any friends? _

_Serenity was sad that he died. I called her a few days before the funeral, but she was on a vacation with her friends from boarding school and couldn't get back in time for it. She put a rose on his grave for him._

_I got you a new rose for your cross, Ma. A Scarlet Carson, like ya used to grow. I've cleaned out the old house and gotten rid of all the junk that's collected for the last couple years. I found the box of letters Dad wrote to you when you two were still dating. And Serenity's baby pictures. _

_I don't think I'm gonna keep the house, Ma. My job doesn't pay enough to keep up with the mortgage and all the utilities topped off with Serenity's school fees and extras like food and stuff. I've already picked out an apartment close to school and my job so I can keep up with my studies and deal with work at the same time. The price is good and utilities are included in the rent . . . just water, electricity and heat, the basics. I'm not taking the TV or anything . . . _

_To hell and back again, that's what Dad always said when he agreed to something. That's what it feels like right now. I've gone to hell and now I'm back again, with no escape. I don't feel anything anymore. It's like that rain the night the old man died soaked me all the way through to my soul._

_What should I do now, Ma?_

_All my love,_

_Pup_

The first day of school.

I chose my courses – all practical, nothing frivolous. I can't afford to take more than what I can use in real life, to be honest. I gotta shape up or else I'm never gonna survive. I was lucky to get a job at the restaurant I did with what I was wearing and the way that I talked.

"Hey! Jou!" I pretended I didn't hear Yuugi calling after me as I turned and started walking towards my home room. I wonder how he recognized me? I didn't recognize myself when I looked in the bathroom mirror this morning.

Apparently, I was in the same home room as Tea, Tristan and Yuugi. And even though I buried my head in my math book to get a head start on my next class, they still contrived to sit around me. "Jou? Are you okay?" Tea asked, her big brown eyes filling with concern. "You don't look so hot."

I put a hand to my forehead without looking away from my math book. "I'm actually quite cool," I told her; I was doing my damndest to practice my language every chance I got. The restaurant had been kind enough to give me a shot and I was not going to make a fool out of myself, not with the money they're paying me. "Is there something important you'd like to talk about, or is it simply mindless chatter meant to while away the hours by speaking of nonsense?"

"Jou, why did you ignore me in the hall?" Yuugi demanded angrily. "And why aren't you carrying your deck?"

"They are in my bag," I lied. I still refused to take my eyes off of my textbook.

_To calculate income taxes on a mortgage, use the chart on p 237 of this book. Claim Code 7._

"They're not here," Tristan cried as he tore through my bag looking for my cards. "And you're not wearing your card necklace! Jonouchi, what the hell is going on with ya, buddy?"

"I grew up," I replied sharply. I slammed my book shut, grabbed my bag from my former best friend and walked to the other side of the room where there was an empty desk beside Seto Kaiba. I met his gaze as I sat down, but didn't say anything.

"Good morning, pup," Kaiba said.

"Kaiba," I replied in a frosty tone as I sat down and pulled out my textbook again. I couldn't let his barbs get to me, either, if I were to succeed.

"Is there a reason you are tainting me with your presence, mutt?" Kaiba's voice turned acidic and I felt my hair stand on end. "Or is your new hobby making my life a living hell?"

"Hell is a place where evil festers," I replied sharply, startling him. "And although this world is filled with evil, it does not fester here. I'm attempting to study. Kindly be quiet so that I may do so in peace."

Kaiba fell silent and returned to his own book. It wasn't a textbook, library or business book and as bound with green leather. Interesting, I thought, but I'd managed to make the silence and I wasn't about to break it.

End of day one, and I wasn't doing too bad for myself. I was taking all business or consumer courses and in a brief chat with a guidance counselor, I was told that with the courses I was taking, I had a good chance at getting an internship in a good business after I was finished high school. Not bad for a day that made me feel like the a grub in the ground.

My shift at C'est Noir – I asked them about the C'est Noir instead of Chez Noir thing too, but the manager just told me that it had been named like that since it had opened – was short and sweet and, by the time I was finished my homework, it was only nine at night.

So I went to bed and curled up with Mom's copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde. It wasn't long before the book fell forgotten onto the coverlet and I drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.


End file.
